Vera
by psychedelicavenger
Summary: A girl with a shattered past is offered the chance for revenge. All she has to do is win. Disclaimer : I don't own anything. Please read and review.
1. Eve of Destruction

There I was, all alone in that dark, padded cell in Blackfield for two miserable years. Believe me, two years is a long time when you are slowly going out of your mind, if you're not already. Nothing to do all day but wait for the next day, while going through the same mind-numbing routine. God, I would have done anything to get out of there.

Then my luck changed. I was leaning against the wall, staring out the cross-shaped window at the fading light of day, when I heard the door to my cell creak open. A man walked in, said his name was Calypso and asked me if I wanted to play a game. I turned my head around to get a good look at him and I saw the scar around his left eye, if you could even call it that. I asked him what's in it for me. He told me the one word every Blackfield inmate wanted to hear. Revenge.

I jumped up to follow him out the door. I noticed that he had "distracted" the guards and I smiled to myself, although I felt a little twinge of regret that I hadn't done it to the sick fucks myself. Once outside, I saw my beloved vintage car I stole when I was 16. Calypso, however was nowhere to be seen. So I opened the door and sat down. It looked exactly the same as it did years ago and everything was in the exact same place it had been. So I took the pack of Camels and the lighter off the dashboard, took one out and lit that sweet cancer stick. It was then that I noticed the note on the back of the box. It told me to go to this old, abandoned warehouse in the country where I would meet the other competitors. So I popped in a CD and cranked up the volume. That was when I caught a glimpse of myself in the rear-view mirror.

I hadn't seen my face in over two years and I didn't like what I saw. My vivid blue eyes were sunken into my skull and my face was tinged yellow from the lack of sunlight. My hair had faded from rich chocolate to a dull, mousy brown. I opened the glove compartment and pulled out my makeup bag. I applied some steel-gray eyeshadow and eyeliner out past the outside corners of my eyes. I looked to the other seat and saw my old clothes, a pink and black striped tank top, bright red Converse shoes, tight blue-gray jeans and the 20-or so silver bangles I used to wear. I changed and I was a little upset because my clothes didn't fit me quite the same. The asylum didn't have the best diet plan and I was pretty thin. Disappointed but still satisfied, I looked at the crimson sunset and drove out the gate.

I guess I should tell you a bit about myself. My name is Vera Lynn. I am a 20 year old girl, Latina, that used to have dark brown hair and eyes the exact same shade as the sky. I am excellent at finding out what people are thinking. I can see it in their eyes and in their body language. I was raped at age 16 and I killed the man who did it when I was 17. Men never really had a good affect on me. My dad ran off with some bimbo when I was 7. After that, my mom kinda lost it. I guess I did too. I remember two weeks after he left she put on her wedding dress just to "see if it still fit". She never took it off after that. She was carted off to the asylum when I was 8, and I haven't seen her since then. It happened on my birthday actually. Good times. I don't even know if she's still alive. I was placed into foster care with a surprisingly nice family until I was 10. They were like the family I had always wanted. They loved me like I was their own flesh and blood and I felt like I really had a family. But, good thing never last. They were butchered by some maniac, the cops never told me who it was. I was at a friends' house at the time. When I got home, I saw the most horrible thing. My family – dead. Their blood was spattered all over the walls, their lifeless bodies mutilated. And I didn't even scream or cry, I couldn't. I just stood there, unable to move.

For about two years, I just lived in an orphanage. I guess no family wanted to deal with a child that had suffered so much trauma. Three months after my 12th birthday another family picked me up. It didn't last long – only two months, I think. It's hard to remember because around that time is when I started doing drugs. I was having a hard time at the new school and this guy offered me some pot because he knew what I had been through. He was my best friend for three years. He was sent to prison for manslaughter two years after I met him. Apparently, he got so doped up he attacked a cop with a switchblade for giving him a parking ticket. I visited him in prison for a while, but it was getting increasingly hard to see him, as my current foster family was moving. They didn't like him – they said he was a bad influence. They thought he was the reason for my slipping grades. They had no idea that I was going to school high.

The next family was the second last (thank God) I had to live with, because once I turned 18 I would be on my own in the city. The assholes acted like I wasn't even there. They had twin 10 year old girls. My God they were the spawn of Satan. They would always piss me off and when I told them to fuck off/burn in hell/go die in a fire etc. , they would run off and tell mommy and daddy, and I would get my ass kicked. Bunch of bastard mother fuckers. I stayed with them until I was 16 and they got sick of me.

I was then moved to another "family" – an abusive alcoholic single father with a 9 year old son. It was that man who made me snap. About three weeks after I moved in, that mother fucker raped me. He said to me that if I ever told anyone, he'd kill me. I really believed he would too. He kept it up for almost a year. On my 17th birthday I'd had enough. I grabbed a knife from a cabinet and I killed that bastard. It feels like it was just yesterday. _"Happy birthday to me-" STAB, "Happy birthday to me-" STAB, _and so on.I can even remember the feel of his blood on my hands. When the cops found me with me standing over his mangled body, covered in his blood, that was all they needed. Luckily, I was still a minor I couldn't get the chair so I went to juvie for a year. On my 18th birthday I was tried and was sent to Blackfield on insanity. The first few weeks were the worst because I kept having withdrawal from all the drugs I did. It was hell. You try hyperventilating in a straight-jacket.

When I finally got to the warehouse I saw a whole mess of cars parked outside. I stepped out of my car and walked inside. The loading dock was empty, but I heard voices. I opened the door to the employee lounge to see a lot of strange faces looking back at me. There was this emo, gothic girl, someone with this broken china doll mask on (I couldn't tell if it was a guy or girl), a preacher, a girl in a blood-stained wedding dress, this deformed hillbilly guy, this weirdo army guy wearing a skull, some guy in a SWAT uniform, this creeper with his eyes and mouth sewn shut, a weird masked clown with a his head on fire, and an almost normal looking guy with a lot of tattoos. They were all sitting randomly around the room in various chairs.

"You here for Calypso's contest?" The hillbilly asked me.

"No, I'm a girl scout. Who wants cookies?" I responded sarcastically and I sat down lazily in an available armchair.

Everyone had a laugh at the hillbilly's expense. He glared at me and said, "As I was saying, that's when I picked up the hoe and beat her face in while that bastard pilot ran away."

"Sounds like fun." I said, and when a few of them snickered I added, with an expressionless face, "No, I'm serious." A small grin appeared on my face after I saw the looks on theirs. I pulled out my Camels and lit one as the bride began to tell her story. It went on like that for a while, but I did learn who they were and why they were here. The only thing was, Sweet Tooth kept staring at me like he'd seen me before. I was starting to get really pissed off. I hate men that stare at me like I'm a goddamn object. And then I get mad and they better hope I don't have a knife on me. I took a long drag on my cigarette to try to calm myself down but it didn't really help. When a smirk made its way onto his face I'd had enough. Quick as a flash I drew my switchblade, opened it and threw it across the room. The blade went through the flames and hit the wall behind him. Everyone stared and I was glad to see Sweet Tooth was a little shocked.

"Your lucky that missed or else I would have to disqualify you."

Everyone's head turned to look at Calypso, who was standing in the doorway.

"It was a warning." I explained without looking at him.

Sweet Tooth seemed confused and asked in his deceptively smooth voice, "What are you talking about?". I ignored him.

Calypso grinned and said, "I'm only here for a little while so here are the rules to Twisted Metal:

1.There are no rules.

2.No cheating."

"How can we cheat if there aren't any rules?" The goth girl asked.

Calypso only grinned and said, "I'll get your cars ready for the fight," and with that he walked out the door, leaving us in anxious silence.


	2. No Quarter

It was over. I had won the contest. So I went to see Calypso and get my prize – the bastard that murdered my family. He asked me if I was ready and I said yes. Calypso handed me a sharp hunting knife and told me to follow him into the other room. When I saw who it was, I almost dropped my knife.

It was Sweet Tooth. The man that killed my family and ruined my life was Sweet Tooth. Incidentally, the man that killed my family and ruined my life was also unconscious and chained to the wall. "You mother fucker..." I growled viciously as my grip on the knife tightened so my knuckles turned white. As I slowly walked towards him he started to wake up.

"What the fuck?" he muttered slowly as he saw me slowly making my way towards him. "So you won?"

"You killed my family you son of a bitch." I snarled, nearing hysteria and disregarding his question. "And now your gonna pay."

The bastard smiled under his mask and said with a faint reminiscent gleam in his eyes, "I knew you looked familiar, I saw a picture of you on their wall. It's a shame I didn't get the chance to kill you then. Children are so much more fun-" He was suddenly interrupted by my knife going through his stomach. Then his arms. Then his legs. Snapping bones, slicing flesh. I have to say, I really enjoyed hearing his screams. His arms, legs and torso were carved up pretty bad, but I wasn't even close to finishing with him. I wanted to keep him alive for as long as possible though, I wanted him to feel the pain, and I laughed as I thought of the fun I was going to have.

About half an hour later, I walked quite calmly – covered in blood though I didn't realize it at the time– out of the room where the now dead clown was still held. He was _completely_ unrecognizable now. I literally tore him apart – his left foot lay severed on the floor as was his mask, nose, ears, right eye, and several fingers, all covered in blood and guts. I didn't exactly get a good look at his face though, seeing as I was in a fit of rage, and I sure as hell couldn't see his face now - if you could even call it a face anymore. All I could think about was how _good_ it felt to kill him, to torture him to his last breath.

Calypso said he had one more surprise for me, but he told me to wash up first. I looked down at my body and saw myself covered in Sweet Tooths' blood. I gave an almost girlish giggle and walked over to an old water fountain and splashed some water onto my face and arms. Once I was a little more cleaned up, Calypso showed me the other prize he had for me. This time, I did drop the knife.

It was my father. My father, gagged and bound to a chair.

I hadn't seen him since I was seven, but I knew it was him. Before my mother was sent to the asylum, she gave me a picture of my dad and told me to keep it with me always. Though I never looked at it because just the thought of him made me sick, I still kept the picture in my wallet out of respect for my poor mother, who loved him so much.

It's funny, through the entire contest I kept thinking of how I was going to get revenge on whoever had killed my adoptive family. I never even spared a thought for my father, or what I would do if I saw him. I saw tears welling up inside his brown eyes. As I got closer I saw something in his eyes that I couldn't name, some emotion I wasn't familiar with. 

He was desperately trying to say something to me through the gag. I took pity on the asshole and removed it.

"Vera, my baby," I winced. "You've grown so much!" He said affectionately.

I said in a cold voice, "You didn't expect me to stay seven forever did you?"

"Always the funny one you were! And so pretty!" He said as a tears leaked from his eyes. "I always said you got that from your mothe-"

"Don't you fuckin' talk about my mother ever again!" I spat furiously and he flinched. How dare that bastard talk about us! "You lost that right a long time ago." As he tried to excuse his mistake, all the while showering me with praises, I realized what was in his watering eyes. _Fear. He was afraid._ He was afraid of me – of what I could do to him. I could practically smell the terror leaking from his every orifice. All his loving words were bullshit! He was just trying to get on my good side to save his own ass! The fucker! As he babbled on, I thought of something. If mom was still alive, she would probably want to know whatever happened to dear old daddy. And then it occured to me, if she had really cared about me, she would have held on to her sanity, for the sake of her daughter. But no, she was too absorbed in her own problems to spare a thought to the child that needed her. The child she forgot.

I turned around, leaving my father in mid-sentence, and walked over to Calypso. I asked him for a camera and he pointed to a nearby table where a camera lay, ready for me. I picked up the fallen knife and started to walk back to my father with an evil grin on my face that bordered on demonic.

"V-Vera? Baby? A-are you okay?" He asked in a shaky voice that was little more than a squeak of sheer terror. I raised my knife and my revenge began again. After all, why should he get mercy? What did he leave for me?

* * *

"Mrs. Lynn? You've got a letter." An older woman's eyes fell on the young guard holding an envelope with the word "PASS" stamped on it with red ink.

"Thank you..."she muttered softly as he handed it to her. She sat down on her cot in the corner, brushed her dull brown hair away from her face and opened the envelope. Inside was a Polaroid picture of her grinning daughter, now fully grown.She almost didn't recognize her. She ran her weathered fingers over the corners of the picture and frowned when she felt something strange. A fold. Another picture, stuck to the back. _The guards must have missed it, _She thought as she gingerly peeled it off and-

The guard rushed back to her cell when he heard the screams. He fumbled with the keys and when he finally got the door opened he saw Mrs. Lynn on the floor, no longer screaming. Her mousy brown hair had gone completely white and there were two photos clutched in her unmoving hand, envelope in the other. The guards' curiosity got the better of him and he pried the pictures out of her hand. In the first was a smiling blue-eyed brunette girl who looked about 20.

He threw up. In second picture was the smiling girl covered in blood and holding a knife. That blood belonged to the man next to her. His eyes were gouged out leaving bloody sockets. But that wasn't the worst part. His jaw had been ripped off. His nose had been slit down the center. There were arteries, veins and cartilage hanging out of the dead man's face.

When the guard regained his composure, he flipped the picture over. On the back was two words, scrawled in blood,

_Remember me?_

_V.L. _


End file.
